Alphabet Soup
by Berrirose
Summary: Kageyama is sick, and startlingly different. Hinata decides that he's totally down with this. Kagehina.


It's six in the evening, and, standing outside Kageyama's house and listening to the flu-ridden setter fiddle with the oh so complicated concept of door locks, Hinata doesn't expect anything out of the ordinary to happen. He's cleaned up, packed, and ready to nurse the poor king to full health.

The door clicks open and Hinata breaks out into a smile. "Hey! Sorry I'm a bit la—"

But he doesn't manage to finish the sentence when Kageyama's arms wrap sluggishly around him, pulling him into an embrace that's two times warmer than usual.

_"I love you."_

.

Hinata prided himself for not being as much of an idiot as everyone seemed to think he was. (Not the most ideal of traits, but it's not like Kageyama's much better.)

After the initial shock of being pulled into a hug by someone who _never_ initiated _any_ human contact with practically _anyone_ (even if that person was, say, their boyfriend of _seven months_) and the unwarranted declaration of love that followed suit, Hinata deduced that the usual inhibitions that made Kageyama the stoic, outwardly cold person he is are thrown completely out the window when he was sick.

He _did_ expect taking care of Kageyama to be different, sure.

But he _didn't_ expect Kageyama to become a love-deprived snail, follow him practically everywhere with a blanket cocoon, and effervesce a constant need to be cuddled like the oversized bear he was acting like.

_"Hinataaa—"_ groans the voice behind him for the _millionth_ time, drawing painstakingly long on the final letter because he knows the other won't acknowledge him otherwise. He doesn't say anything after that, but - by the way he's taken to draping himself over the spiker while he attempts to prepare him a warm meal - Hinata's quite sure that he just wants to cuddle.

Hinata's standing over a damp cutting board in the fresh pair of clothes he picked to stay over and a black apron he decided to throw into the mix in case he accidentally get himself dirty. All his efforts in the past hour materialize as the small stew pot that's currently sitting on the stove next to him, a cream-colored broth beginning to simmer together within it.

Kageyama's parents are out for the night - having left minutes before Hinata showed up - and he graciously volunteered to watch over their son from the kindness in his heart (and to prove to the setter that _yes_ he's capable of being a "_responsible human being"_ now and then).

Normally (when it's his sister that's sick) he'd have no problem being able to prepare some simple stew - but having a giant for a boyfriend and having said giant slump over you like a dead sack of fried potatoes didn't make matters any easier.

"Go away, you're getting your germs all over me," chides Hinata, none of the venom he hoped to have actually present. It's getting increasingly hard to keep focused when Kageyama's breath is splashing over the side of his face and neck.

"Mm, sorry." Unfazed by the other's sharp retort, Kageyama snuggles in further. "Love you." And Hinata's heart does a flip at that, as it did every time he heard the phrase. It's been obvious from day one that no matter how much pestering he went through, Kageyama rarely ever said "I love you", so every time he does say it, it's enough to make up for all the times he didn't.

And it's a rush of emotion that Hinata would rather not go through while handling ingredients over a big iron pot and an open flame.

_No._ He's going to do this. He's going to pull through and cook a damn good meal with a thirty-eight-degree dead weight over him so his boyfriend can hurry the hell up and get better. And no amount of sweet nothings and declarations of love would _ever_—

"Shouyou."

_Shit._

Kageyama's never called him by his first name before.

Hell, he's surprised Kageyama even knows what his first name _is_.

Kageyama seems pleasantly surprised when Hinata turns his head to meet him - having to twist his neck in the process to ensure that they're (at the very least) a hair's length apart from each other. Damn that oversized bastard for using such unfair tactics to get his attention.

_"I love you."_

Damn him to hell.

.

After what felt like an eternity and a half, Hinata finds himself spoon feeding Kageyama in the living room.

They're sitting opposite each other on the sofa, Kageyama still wrapped in the blanket he refuses to let go of for god knows why, and Hinata with a small bowl of stew and a spoon. The television's on and playing some locally dubbed kid's show (Hinata's attempts to convince Kageyama to change it to something more age appropriate have gone, for the most part, unsuccessful) as the setter sits at a calculated angle that allows him to equally divide his attention between the show and Hinata.

_Even when he's sick, he's still freakishly precise._ Hinata muses, watching Kageyama absently.

"Mm," Kageyama hums, eyes slightly widening and head perking up to signify that he's ready for another spoonful. Despite acting like the spoiled monarch worthy of his previous nickname, Hinata found the act pretty cute.

Well _there's_ an adjective he never thought he'd use to describe Kageyama.

"Here." Hinata scoops up the remains of the stew, holding the spoon out and watching Kageyama eagerly down it with a small bite. He gets up and brings the utensils to the sink, returning to find Kageyama scooting a little bit towards the end of the couch.

As the redhead sits down, he feels the other lean up against him, heat burning into his arm and shoulder. He glances at him, catching sight of the satisfied, full expression on his face before turning back to the television. "D'you like the stew?"

"No," answers Kageyama, a bit too fast for Hinata's liking, "too salty, and a bit undercooked too."

_Well maybe if you didn't sling yourself over me five seconds in I would've done better!_ Hinata screamed internally, biting back the urge to retort the same way he naturally did when it came to Kageyama.

"But," begins the other, gently interrupting Hinata's thoughts, "you made it." He leans more weight against Hinata, head resting on his shoulder. "So I'll eat it."

Hinata turns to look at the him, surprised, and he's met with the most peaceful image of Kageyama he's ever witnessed.

He's a mess, a picture of a disheveled bedhead with faintly red cheeks and blots of hair pasted to his sweat-covered skin. The blanket he's been dragging around all day is loose around his head, falling back just that little bit and exposing the damp bridge of his bangs. His eyes are closed - asleep - and Hinata wonders how a typhoon could ever look so calm.

And it's times like this that help him remember. Remember that, right in front of him - with all the pressure below the overhead lights and caged clocks - is a volleyball prodigy, is the so-called freakishly talented setter of Karasuno's Boy's Volleyball Team, is the once cruel "King of the Court" that drove away all his subjects.

He's a fifteen-year-old boy who dreams like a saint and works like a slave.

And, sometimes, he just needs a break from all that.

Hinata turns to scan the dim room around him, catching sight of a blinking red light beside the television. _9:30_, a bit earlier than he'd hoped, but not a problem. Careful not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, he leans over for the remote and shuts the television off - plunging the room into near-complete darkness.

Kageyama hums softly beside him.

Hinata turns to look.

To say that the sight of someone such as Kageyama Tobio snuggling up against his arm like an affectionate cat was amusing would be an understatement. In fact, Hinata's certain that he spent the first few minutes after his discovery staring at him in awe.

Amidst a (very serious) rumination on how he'll manage to get his phone camera out without disturbing the other, he feels Kageyama shift against him, exhaling a long breath that skims over the length of his arm.

"Thank you." The mumble is soft, slurred, and just on the side of incoherent. "I love you."

At that, Hinata's free arm abandons all attempts to blindly grope for his cellphone, moving over to give Kageyama's hair a few affectionate pats before settling around his back.

"Yeah," Hinata mutters, lost into a tuft of jet black hair, "I love you too." He faintly registers the soft _T_resting on the tip of his tongue, but he leaves that for another day, pulling Kageyama just that bit closer and leaving himself to be taken by sleep.

.

Kageyama wakes up the next day fully rested, recovered, and looking like the world has come to a close as the memories of the past delirium-filled 24 hours came flooding back into his head. To which Hinata responds with a dopey smile and a not-so-inconspicuous attempt to capture the other's apocalyptic performance on his phone.

All in all, Hinata wouldn't mind setting aside a day or two to take care of a sick Kageyama every once in a while. However, three days later, when it's Kageyama's turn to knock on the door at his house to take care of him—

_" … Shaddup will ya, the knocking's fuggin' annoying."_

—he discovers that it's not _quite_ the same vice versa.

* * *

_A/N: diseased dorks are dumb dorks, 'nough said. __posted this on my fic blog too, kagehina's slowly taking over *A* i feel like i'm cheating on my otp_

_Also unproofread because i'm lazy ahahhahaha ;_;;_


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